


Coffee on the Rocks

by Luthien



Series: Luthien Does Writer's Month 2019 [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Australia, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Australia, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 01:37:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20107042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: Jaime/Brienne coffee shop AU, set on the north coast of New South Wales, Australia - because I can.





	Coffee on the Rocks

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thank yous to slipsthrufingers for a lightning fast beta!
> 
> Fill for Writer's Month 2019 Day 3: Coffee shop AU
> 
> I've recorded this story as a podfic, which you can find **[here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268183/chapters/58487632)**.

Brienne trudged along the side of the highway, dragging her suitcase through the gravel. It kicked up a small cloud of dust as it rolled along behind her. The dazzlingly bright and unforgiving antipodean sun beat down on her, and she could feel her back, left mostly bare by the skimpy sundress she was wearing, beginning to get warm. Her face was even warmer. Her skin would be glowing red by the time she finally made it back to civilisation, or whatever passed for civilisation in these parts.

She wished she'd thought to grab her hat, or the tube of sunscreen, but there hadn't really been time to think. She only had her sunglasses to keep the glare out of her eyes because she'd been wearing them when Hyle had pulled over and stopped the car by the side of the highway, jamming his foot on the brake so hard that Brienne's head had thumped back against the headrest. She had given him one last, poisonous glare, and flung herself out of the car. He'd popped the boot, she'd pulled out her luggage, and he'd driven off at speed while she was still trying to get the slightly wonky castors on the bottom of her case to point in the same direction.

She'd been walking for a while, half an hour at least, and as yet there'd been no sign of any sort of human habitation. Not even a signpost showing how many fractions of a mile it was to the nearest village. Her phone could tell her nothing. Not how far it was to the nearest town nor even what the temperature was. She'd forgotten to charge it last night, and Hyle had already had his own phone plugged into the car charger when she'd got into the passenger seat this morning.

In England, being in the country in summer meant being never farther than a mile or so from a farmhouse at the very least, unless one were intentionally hiking through a national park or something like it—and even then, the nearest human being was not so very far away. It meant being surrounded by vegetation that was lush and green, and tidy in a way that the straggly olive green scrub that provided intermittent shade along the side of this road would never be. Even the grass growing in little clumps by the side of the road here was a pale, dried-out yellow, almost like straw, that was unflatteringly similar to Brienne's brittle blonde hair. This was nothing like the English countryside she was used to, that she'd grown up in, and where she'd lived her whole life before she'd moved to London to study, and then stayed there to work.

And met Hyle.

Brienne's fingers clenched around the handle of her suitcase, but she kept putting one foot in front of the other. She could feel the sweat gathering in her armpits, and even beneath the modest swell of her breasts, and between her thighs. Her skin was starting to chafe there. It was going to sting later, but not nearly so much as the blisters that she was sure were forming under the ankle straps of her new sandals.

It had seemed like such a good idea when Hyle had suggested getting right away from the dull, grey English winter. Winter in England was hardly ever interesting enough even to include snow. It was all just miserable, short, cold drizzly days where the sun was hardly ever out even when it was ostensibly daytime.

So now here she was, slowly boiling in the sun like an especially large and pale lobster, a few days before Christmas. It must be thirty degrees, at least. How far could it be to… somewhere? Anywhere?

It hadn't seemed so very far when they'd passed through that last little coastal town on their way south, but in the weeks she'd been in Australia she'd discovered that distances between places could be deceptive. They were always further than they appeared to be on the map. Even so, _surely_ it couldn't be much further back to whatever-that-place-had-been-called. There hadn't been much there, but she was sure there'd been some houses and a service station, plus a small motel and a few shops. Maybe a cafe? Brienne hoped so. It would be so wonderful to sit down in the shade and have a long, cold drink and… yes, then she'd follow it up with a cup of tea. Tea was the great restorative. There was very little that couldn't be made better for an English person by a good, strong cup of tea. Builders' tea. The sort that you could stand a spoon up in.

Some sort of huge lorry thundered past, and blared its horn at her. The driver didn't stop to see if she needed help, though, just like every vehicle that had passed her while she'd been walking along in the blazing sun in the middle of nowhere.

Brienne wasn't feeling very kindly disposed towards Australia or Australians right now.

She followed the bend in the road along a gentle but consistent rise, and when she got to the top she found herself with a view of the sapphire blue waters of the South Pacific, sparkling in the sunlight as the waves crashed on the beach below. And at the other end of the beach, behind a small barrier of Norfolk Island pines, lurked the township, looking very much as she remembered it, which was not surprising, considering it was less than an hour since she'd last seen it, even though it felt like half a day at least.

Brienne hurried now, picking up a little speed on the downward slope. The end was in sight. Soon-

One of the castors hit a stone or got stuck in a rut or on a clump of grass or _something_. Whatever it was, the result was undeniable: Brienne went one way and her luggage went the other. It was a miracle that she didn't end up on her hands and knees in the gravel, with some nasty scrapes and bruises to show for it. She landed on her backside, which was painful enough, but was at least a little cushioned by her dress and underwear.

She got up, wincing—she was definitely going to end up with a bruise on her arse—checked herself up and down, and realised that her dress was torn at the back where she'd hit the ground. It wasn't all that big a rip, though. No one was going to stop long enough to notice, and once she reached the town she'd get a room at the motel and she could change into something else.

Sighing, she went to retrieve her case, which was lying on its side a little way down the hill. It was mostly undamaged—except that one of the castors had come right off. She was going to have to carry it the rest of the way. It figured, she supposed. It was all one with the small, personal nightmare that this day had turned into for her.

The little town was farther away than it had looked from the bend in the road. It was a good fifteen minutes before Brienne made it to the town's main street. Her vague memory of the place turned out to be more accurate than she'd really expected. Mostly. There was a service station, and a small supermarket, and she'd been right that there was a motel. The only problem was that the motel was closed. The gates at the front of the place were chained shut, and there was a sign beside them that said: "For lease."

_No room at the inn_, Brienne thought, just a touch hysterically. _No **inn** at the inn, even._

She scanned the rest of the street. There were a few more businesses on the other side of the road. One looked to be an actual restaurant, with the unlikely name of 'Kelp', though of course it wasn't open at this hour of the morning, and next to it was a coffee shop: 'Coffee on the Rocks', proclaimed the sign along the front in flowing cursive.

Brienne closed her eyes and let out a long sigh of relief. There was a seat waiting for her in there and, please God, a cup of tea.

The highway bypassed the little town, looping around the edge of it, so Brienne crossed the road without having to brave any traffic, and entered the coffee shop. She dropped her bag the moment the door closed behind her and just stood there for a moment, overwhelmed by the blessed cool of the air-conditioning.

"I'll be with you in a sec!" a male voice called out from somewhere beyond the open door behind the counter.

Brienne collapsed into a chair. It was all spindly and modern, with clean lines and a hard seat, but she did not care. Her legs no longer had to hold her up, and for the moment that was all she cared about. She slumped in the chair and closed her eyes and let the cold, cold air flow over her too-hot skin. Ahhhh.

"What would you like?" the male voice said, much—_much_—closer now, and Brienne's eyes flew open. Standing next to her was the most good-looking man she'd ever seen not on a cinema screen, or a TV screen, or any sort of screen. She knew that the actor who played Thor had a property somewhere in this area. Could this man be some sort of Hemsworth?

"Uh," she said intelligently, before pulling herself together and scrambling into a more conventional sitting position. "Could you get me a glass of water, please?" she asked once she was looking slightly more like what her aunt might have described as 'ladylike'. "And then I'd _love_ a cup of tea."

"Sparkling or still?" the possibly-Hemsworth asked.

It took Brienne a moment to work out that he was asking about the water. He had a nice voice, deep and smooth, and he enunciated his words clearly, unlike some of the country people she'd met during the roadtrip she and Hyle had been taking along the east coast of Australia. He was tall and broad-shouldered and lean, and his hair was the sort of dirty-blond that would have been fair in childhood. Like the Hemsworths. His eyes were a clear green—was that a Hemsworth trait, or did they have blue eyes? Brienne couldn't remember—and right now they were looking at her questioningly. Oh, right. Her order. She didn't seem to be able to keep her mind from running on. Maybe all the bright sunshine had got to her a bit.

She shook her head, trying to pull her thoughts together—or at least away from this waiter or barista or Hemsworth or whatever he was and back to the important subject of properly hydrating her body.

"Oh, still, please," she said. "And do you have a selection of teas, or just ordinary tea? Ordinary is fine. I just want a proper cuppa," she said, giving him a smile that tried to convey that she was an Englishwoman abandoned in a strange land—no, scratch that, she'd better not let even a possible Hemsworth know that she was quite alone and that no one in the world knew exactly where she was right now, well, apart from Mr-green-eyed-Hemsworth-ish and herself, obviously—and a cup of tea was a matter of urgency.

"This is a coffee shop," the man pointed out.

"Yes, I noticed that," Brienne said. "It says it on the sign outside." So, he was pretty but stupid? No wonder he'd wound up working at a coffee shop in the middle of nowhere. And not just any nowhere, but the Australian nowhere. Then again, the whole himbo vibe he had going only made it even stranger that he'd ended up here instead of in Hollywood.

"Which means that we serve coffee," the man explained, "_not_ tea."

Brienne blinked. "No tea?" she asked carefully.

"No tea," the man confirmed, his lips twitching.

"Oh, damn," she said, and burst into tears. She slapped her hands against her face, utterly mortified, and after a couple of seconds she got herself back under control and let her fingers slip slowly down her cheeks and then away.

"Sorry about that," she said in a low voice. "It's already been quite a day. I've been walking out there in the heat without a hat for quite a while."

"It's starting to get warm," the man agreed easily, though the suggestion of a smile was gone from his lips.

Brienne's eyes narrowed and she watched him carefully, but there seemed to be no trace of irony in his words. He truly believed that that monstrously hot sunshine out there constituted 'starting to get warm'. Just how hot did it get around here in the summer, exactly?

"You probably should have worn some sunscreen and got yourself a hat," the man added, as if this must have been an oversight. He was watching her carefully in return—probably wondering if she was about to dissolve into a fit of hysterics or something. "It's easy enough for tourists to forget. They go out in the morning when the weather's still pretty mild, and…" He made a sort of open-handed gesture. "They tend not to do it more than once, though. A bad case of sunburn can be nasty."

"I did not forget," Brienne said through clenched teeth. "I found myself in a situation where I had to leave the car I was travelling in rather suddenly. Unfortunately, my former travelling companion still has custody of the sunscreen. And of my hat."

"That _is_ unfortunate," the man said. "Do you have somewhere to stay?"

"I fail to see how that is any of your business," Brienne replied drawing herself up in her chair and trying to copy her aunt's haughty manner and cut glass accent.

"Well, it's just that the motel's closed," the man began, rubbing his bearded—no stubbled, that was designer stubble if Brienne had ever seen it—chin thoughtfully.

"Yes, I saw," Brienne said.

"And since it's Sunday, the bus up to Byron Bay isn't running, so it looks like you're stuck here until at least tomorrow," he finished.

"What?!" Brienne exclaimed, appalled, all trace of her aunt's pretentiousness leaving her in a flash. "Surely there must be some other transport. A train? A taxi?"

The man shook his head. "There hasn't been a railway station here since… 1929, I think. And there's no taxi. The place isn't big enough to need one." His expression looked serious. Almost. Was he silently laughing at her?

"I can't… what am I supposed to do, sleep on a park bench?" she demanded.

"No park," the man said, the golden flecks in the depths of his eyes dancing. He _was_ laughing at her, damn him!

"I suppose I'll just have to camp out on the beach," Brienne said, and flopped down in her chair.

He gave her a considering look and seemed to come to some decision. "I'm driving up to Byron this afternoon," he said. "I don't mind giving you a lift if you don't mind being driven by me."

Relief flooded through Brienne. "Oh, _would_ you?" she said. "You'd have my undying gratitude!" She stopped. Looked at him. Bit her lip. "But I don't even know your name."

"Jaime," he said. "Jaime Lannister." He held out his hand, and Brienne scrambled to her feet to take it.

She didn't quite manage that, though. She made it to her feet, but then the room tilted and spun alarmingly. She didn't fall because Jaime not-a-Hemsworth-after-all Lannister was there, his hand strong and steady on her arm, holding her up against his strongly-muscled body.

Brienne really didn't care that he wasn't a Hemsworth if this was what a Lannister looked—and felt—like.

"Sit down," he urged. "I've got some tea bags out the back. I can make you a basic cup of tea, at least. It won't be anything fancy." He glanced around at the posters on the walls, depicting rare and specialised coffee beans and blends from all over the world.

"I don't want fancy, I just want _tea_," Brienne said as she sat down again. "_Thank you_."

"It's no trouble," he said. "It's not like things are buzzing in here this morning, Ms…?" He raised his eyebrows in a question.

"Oh, Tarth. Brienne Tarth. Of London," she said, really not sure why she added that last bit.

"I guessed," he said, with a wink.

"What gave it away?" she asked. "The pale sunburnt skin or the consuming need for tea?"

They shared a smile.

"Wait here," he said. "I won't be long."

Brienne sat back in the chair, watching him stride across the room and back behind the counter. He was wearing quite tight, straight-legged jeans, and the view from the back was easily as good as the view from the front.

Perhaps this day wouldn't turn out to be quite such a total disaster after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The story will continue with tomorrow's prompt: road trip.
> 
> Read the next installment [Coffee on the Road](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20122582).


End file.
